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The Seven against Thebes.
Chorus.
Woe, woe, for wretched Fate,
Donor of baleful dower!
Woe for the shade august of Œdipus!
O swart Erinys strong art thou in power!
Antigone.Antistrophe.
Woes, alas, to sight distressing,
Ismene.
Showed he me, his exile past.
Antigone.
After slaying he returned not.
Ismene.
Saved, his breath away he cast.
Antigone.
Perished hath he; all too true. 980
Ismene.
Ay, and him he also slew.
Antigone.
Wretched kindred!
Ismene.
Wretched fate!
Antigone.
Cares from kindred strife that flow.
